Craving Her Curves (2 page)

Down the hall...

Soda machines, go left...

Last door on the...

“Miss Rivera?” a voice said, bringing me out of my head. I looked up into the pleasant, smiling face of a very well put together woman as she held her hand out to me for a shake.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, giving her a firm shake that she returned with a friendly grin.

“Oh, that's not necessary, call me Amy. I’m Joey’s agent. Did you have too much trouble getting through here? It’s rather daunting the first time, and pretty easy to get turned around,” she said with a laugh.

I smiled and shook my head, “No, though I fully expected to once I saw this place. And call me Charlotte; no need for the title,” I said. She grinned and nodded.

“The shops are really nice; I wish we’d been able to do this when they’re open so that you could see them. But if we had, we wouldn’t have been able to get you in and out without being hounded,” she said.

I nodded, “I understand. I’ll have to make a trip out here another day. There’s a shoe store that looks fabulous.” I said. Amy gave me that look that all women get about shoes and winked.

“It’s incredible,” she said. We laughed together, instantly hitting it off. Shoes: the great unifier.

“Is there anything I need to know about Mr. Parker before I meet him?” I asked.

“Well, first, don’t call him Mr. Parker. He’s getting a bit on in years for the NFL, and that reminds him of that, so he hates it,” she said, scrunching her face up.

“Ah, good to know,” I said.

“Don’t ask about his personal life. It was all over the media, I know, but he went through a pretty painful breakup a few months ago. If you want happy, talkative Joey, best not to bring that up,” she said. I nodded and made a cryptic note, just in case I forgot.

“Got it,” I said. She nodded, stopping in front of a door.

“Other than that, he’s all yours. He and the rest of the team are out on the field. I tried to get Coach to let him leave early and shower first, but I might as well have asked to break one of his legs. I apologize now if he’s a bit... manly,” she said. I laughed.

“It’s okay; I’ve met rock stars that come to interviews after a week of not having showered because they’re lazy. I can handle someone who has a reason to smell like a horse,” I said. She laughed with me and pushed open the double doors.

Beyond the doors was the outdoor practice field. It was magnificent, not a blade of grass off-color or out of place. The stands around the field weren’t as big as in the stadium for games, but there was still plenty of room for people to come watch. The team was out on the field, running, grunting, and slamming into each other. One slammed into the other hard enough for their helmets to make a loud crack as they collided, and I winced in sympathy.

“It takes a bit of getting used to, watching them out there like that,” Amy said softly. I sighed.

“Don’t you worry about your client?” I asked. She turned and nodded with a smile.

“I do, every time some Mack truck with legs plows into him. Especially with Joey, since he and I have become friends over the years. I’m always terrified that he’ll get hurt and I’ll have to call his mother and tell her that I’m beside his hospital bed. But, I never have to make that call. Somehow, he comes out on top every time. It’s like he has his own set of angels keeping him safe out there,” she said. She and I shared a smile. This Joey guy seemed more and more like a better person than I’d thought a multi-millionaire athlete could be. I was so jaded by the movie stars and other celebrities that I’d met who were spoiled divas that it was refreshing to know that maybe he wasn’t like that.

“Parker! Your date is here!” a man I assumed was the coach, judging by his location on the sidelines instead of out in the fray, barked. One of the guys on the field turned and waved to me and Amy.

“Just let me run this last play and I’ll be right there,” he yelled. I nodded and smiled, though I couldn’t really see his face through the helmet and the shadows thrown by it. He turned and hunkered down as someone else began yelling.

“You all can sit in the stands and talk, if you’d like,” Amy said.

“That’s fine; it’s a really nice day,” I said. Amy smiled and led me up into the first row of the stands with a smile.

“You all said that you wanted some pictures for the article, too; is your photographer coming?” she asked. I turned and pointed to a few rows above us.

“See that mop of mousey brown hair peeking from behind that camera? That’s Neil. He came early, to get some shots of Joey out there with the team. He apparently thought I’d be a distraction, so he insisted that he be here hours before the interview,” I said. Amy and I shared a soft laugh.

“At least he’s thorough,” she said. I snickered and nodded.

“That he is,” I said. A whistle blew, bringing my and Amy’s attention back around to the field.

“That’s the end of the play. Do you need anything before I go? Water? I was going to go grab Joey one, too,” she said. I nodded.

“Water sounds great, thank you,” I said. Amy nodded and turned, her cute shoes clicking on the concrete as she went.  I liked her. I loved her shoes.

“Hey, Parker, how’d you land a date that hot?” someone yelled from the field to a chorus of whistles and whoops as he jogged off the field.

“Miss lady, can you interview me next?” someone else yelled. I stood and walked to the railing.

“That depends, lover: Are you the sexiest guy in sports?” I yelled back.

“I’m sexier than that jerk,” the voice yelled back. Joey chose that moment to pull his helmet off.

The manly, sculptured face coupled with the handsome tousled light almond brown hair was no less attractive wet with sweat, like it showed to be now. Those light baby blues met mine as he smiled up at me and tossed his helmet to the side, and my brain was stuck for a second. Why wasn’t I into football again?

“No, you aren’t, there is no way,” I said, bringing my attention back to the peanut gallery with a smirk.  The team laughed and did that playful man punching thing they do, but they stopped giving Joey and I crap. Amy caught him just before he came up into the stands, handing him two bottles of water before she tossed me a wave and a smile, then went off to do whatever agents do.

He strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time and giving me a wide smile as he handed me a bottle of water.

“Amy said she brought this for you,” he said. I smiled and took the bottle as we sat together.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Ignore the guys,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “they’re always like that. They don’t really mean anything by it.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t intimidate easily,” I said with a wink. Joey smirked.

“Good to know,” he said, taking a drink.

“S
o, Joey, since this is a women’s magazine and we want to introduce ladies who aren’t familiar with the sport of football to both it and you, can you tell us a bit about your position out there?” I asked, setting the recorder down between the two of us.

“Sure. I’m a quarter back for the Bullets. When Jason, the quarterback, calls a running play, I’m the one he hands the ball to,” he said. I nodded.

“And then you run it, obviously,” I said, more for clarity’s sake.

Joey grinned and nodded, “Well, to be more specific I run it as close to the goal line as I can manage without being taken down,” he explained.

“Seems simple enough,” I said. Joey smiled.

“You said you wanted an introduction to the position, so I figured that would do the trick, for now,” he said with a wink. I smirked.

“That sounds like a lot of physical strain on your body,” I said. Joey nodded.

“It is, but we’ve got excellent trainers and nutritionists here that keep track of the body weight, BMI, and work out regiment of everyone on the team, and tailor them to fit the person and the position they play,” he said.

I made an impressed noise, “Good to know that there’s someone looking out for you guys.”

Joey smiled, “The Bullets have a great group of people here for us. I wouldn’t ever want to change teams or move; this is home.”

I grinned and wished I’d gotten that moment of sincerity on camera: that was media gold.

“So, tell me, how do you and your teammates get along?” I asked. Joey smiled and turned, looking out onto the field at his team.

“We’re like brothers, honestly. I know it sounds cliché to say it, but we are. When Lance’s wife had their daughter, we were all there at the hospital. We took over the waiting, all night long. When Keith pulled a tendon, we ran off of that field as soon as the end of game whistle sounded to check on him. We take care of each other, both on and off the field,” he said. I couldn’t help but smile, to think that something as violent as football could result in that kind of wonderful, unbreakable camaraderie.

“Combat makes fast friends,” I finally said.

Joey smiled and nodded, “Something like that.” He replied.

“Tell me what a typical day during football season is like for Joey Parker,” I said with a grin.

“Okay, sure.  I’m up by 4 a.m. so that I have time to shower, get dressed, and drive out here to the practice facility.” He said.

I felt my eyes widen. “4 a.m.?!” I squealed. He laughed and nodded.

“The team meets in the weight rooms at 6 a.m. to work out and make sure our muscles are warm before we hit the fields. Otherwise, we run the risk of pulling something. We have to limber up first,” he said.

“Alright. Next?” I asked, ignoring the image in my head of him limbering up.

“Around 8 a.m., the trainers usually come in to check out anyone that may have anything lingering. Maybe someone who’s waiting to heal up enough to get off the bench or something like that. That’s our cue to hit the locker rooms and get suited up. Coach is out on the field waiting for those of us not held up by trainers exactly 30 minutes later. And he is never late, so you’d better not be either,” he said. I glanced over at the older man on the sidelines, shouting instructions and criticisms at the men on the field. He looked like a hard-ass.

“What happens if you’re late for something, other than when you’re being checked out by the trainers?” I asked. Joey followed my line of sight and looked out at his coach.

“He asks why you’re late. If the excuse is deemed a good one, he gives you a pass. Three passes per season, that’s all everyone gets. And he keeps track of how many you have left, so don’t think he’ll forget. If it’s a bad reason, your pay gets docked. Ten thousand dollars per time,” he said. I whirled back around to him, my mouth hanging open.

“Ten thousand?!” I asked, hoping I had misheard.

Joey nodded, “Most guys aren’t late more than once after they see that dent in their paycheck. Coach takes the money that he docks players for being late and donates it to a local charity that helps women and children coming out of abusive situations,” he explains.

I blinked at him. That was a lot of money to lose all at once like that, “But... still! How do you know that’s what he’s doing with it all?” I asked, trying to bring my interviewing persona back online.

“He gives us the receipts. He wants us to understand that he’s not doing it to be a prick; he’s teaching us responsibility. A lot of the new guys are fresh out of college or just a year or two out of high school, and still learning how to be fully functioning adults. He calls it his contribution to their upbringing,” Joey said with a slight smile.

I glanced back out at the coach, who until that moment had just looked like a sour older man to me. There was something else there. He would be a fascinating one to talk to. I jotted down a note to talk to Jade about it later.

“Wow. Okay, so 8:30 a.m. on the dot, you all are out here on the field, suited up for practice,” I prompted.

Joey nodded before continuing, “We run drills for the first hour or so, depending on how long coach thinks we need. Rushing drills, tackling drills, pushups, Suicides, whatever we need.” I tilted my head.

“Suicides?” I asked. Joey grinned.

“Come on, stand up,” he said, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet just as I realized that maybe I should not have revealed that I didn’t know what a suicide was.

“Okay, wait a second,” I said, eyeing Joey carefully.

“Coach! Toss me that chalk on the bench, would you?” Joey yelled. The coach turned and picked up the chalk, trotting over to the stands to hand it up.

“Why do you need chalk for your date, Parker?” Coach asked. Joey grinned.

“She asked what a Suicide is,” he said with what looked like an evil grin.

Coach laughed, “Good luck, darling,” he said before moving back towards the field.

Joey started from where he and I stood and walked a few feet down the walkway, drawing a line with the chalk. He repeated the process until there were three lines between him and me, then he stopped, put the chalk down, and dusted off his hands. I glanced at the field and noticed that all practice had stopped, and we were now the center of attention.

“A suicide run is when the victim, that’s you today, runs from their starting point to the first mark. You have to touch the mark with your hand, then run back to the starting point,” he said. I nodded.

“Okay, then why are there two other marks?” I asked. Joey smirked.

“After you hit the first mark and return, you run to the second mark, touch it with your hand and return to the start. Then to the third,” he explained. I glanced down at the marks. They seemed so much farther away than they had been before.

“Are you insane?” I asked. The peanut gallery by the field chuckled.

“You said you wanted to know what a suicide is. Come on, let’s go,” he said.

I scowled, but slipped off my shoes. “I should have left on my tennis shoes,” I hissed and stretched out a bit.

“What?” Joey asked with an amused grin on his face.

“I said I hate you,” I said a bit louder.

He laughed, “Stop stalling, and let’s see how far you can get, Miss Charlotte. I’m waiting.” He said, holding his arms open.

“Don’t let him challenge you like that, Miss Lady. Just run down there and kick him in the nuts, and we’ll all understand,” one of the others on the team yelled.